The Adventures of Admiral Westergard
by afewreelthoughts
Summary: After the events of Frozen, Prince Hans is headed home to the Southern Isles, when he gets an unexpected chance at heroism.
1. The Admiral Goes to Sea

After three nights at sea, Prince Hans Westergard had not slept a wink. The wooden cot he slept on cradled him, and the waves rocked him gently every night. The winds that came through the bars of his cell were of Arendelle's summer. Stripped of every luxury, he had never felt more at ease. The sea is a fickle mistress, but Prince Hans only loved her the more for it, and in return, she made her waves his home. He should have slept more soundly here than in the most luxurious palace suite, but for the thoughts that crept into his mind at night:

_You are going home._

_Your brothers will hear of this._

_Johann will be disappointed._

_Gerhardt will frown._

_And Rudolf will smile._

_Your brothers will hear of it._

_What will become of you now?_

The sailors rattled the bars of his cell every morning to wake him. Their third day at sea, one of the sailors shouted, "Morning, gorgeous!" as he grinned in at him.

Hans sat up on his cot and tilted up his chin, "It's Your Highness, and I'd like warm water and a razor to shave." It had taken Hans years to grow his sideburns, and could never seem to manage a beard, but three days had finally taken away his smooth cheeks, and most of all he itched for any familiar ritual to distract him from their destination.

The sailor, who had a full black beard, laughed and punched the bars again. Hans knew they wouldn't listen to a single one of his commands, but it comforted him to give them constantly, to maintain some semblance of control. His palms sweat to think of what might happen in the days to come, and his imagination raced through all the gruesome sorts of execution he had read about in history and invented six more besides.

"Coil that rope while you're at it." Hans nodded towards a tangled pile of rope not far from his cell door. It had grated on him every time he looked at it, a sign of the poor seamanship of the men running this vessel. "It's unsafe as it is." If he were lucky, this crew would kill everyone aboard the ship before they even laid eyes on the Southern Isles.

"What do you know about it?" the black-bearded sailor said.

"I used to be an admiral in my kingdom's navy." He spoke so loud half the crew could hear him. He hated the way they sneered at him, looked down their pock-marked noses at him, laughed as him as though he were lying. He knew more about seamanship than all of them combined. "I was appointed by – "

"Ooo, appointed. Well put me down as impressed," said another sailor, clean-shaven, with a hooked nose, "Did you pass an extra special test?"

"Why didn't you stay in the job? Too much work?" cut in the black-bearded man.

Hans stood and pressed his face to the bars of his cell. The metal felt cool against his cheeks. "I know more about seamanship than this entire crew," he said defiantly.

They hooted at that. One man, more of a scrawny boy, with ginger hair sticking out of his head at every available angle, half-slid, half-fell down the rigging, he was laughing so hard.

They laughed and laughed, like each and every one of them had not laughed in years. Hans wanted to yell at them, to stomp his feet and demand they be quiet, but instead he lay back down on his cot and imagined something else absolutely hilarious that they must be laughing at instead. From the deck above Hans' cell, the captain cleared his throat, and quiet fell. "Back to work, men. The sooner we reach the Southern Isles, the sooner we leave our prisoner behind." The captain found the young redheaded boy, and gestured to the messy pile of rope. The boy rolled his eyes, but sat down next to the rope and started coiling it.

"As for you, Your Highness." The captain took slow, swaggering steps towards Hans' cell. He was a tall, dignified blond man, but he had a simple look to his face, as if he did not know what it was to be angry. "If I were you, I would spend the precious time you have before we reach the Southern Isles thinking about what you plan to say to your brothers instead of spending it correcting my crew." He always looked at Hans with pity and Hans hated it. He could pity himself well enough, thank you very much.

When the captain left, Hans turned on one side and propped his head on his hand. "You see," he told the black-bearded sailor. "I was right about the rope." The man only smiled.

"You remind me of my brother Rudolf," Hans said. "He smiles too much."


	2. His Brother's Favorite Son

The baby boy had his father's smile, but while it had always looked dumb and grotesque on Rudolf, on his son it was the smile of an angel.

"He's beautiful, Julienne."

"Kai's our little miracle," his mother cooed at the baby in her arms. Kai grabbed onto one of Hans' fingers and held on tight. "Would you like to hold him?"

"May I?" Hans looked to Rudolf, who was smiling, as always. Hans took that as a yes, opened his arms and cradled his brother's son.

"You'd think it would have been easier for us to have a son, considering our family's luck," Rudolf prattled. His son had his mother's bright blue eyes and reached up to Hans' face and tugged.

"Ouch! What are you doing, silly?" Hans cooed and moved his sideburns out of Kai's reach. "You don't know your own strength." He shifted the baby in his arms and took a seat across from Rudolf and Julienne. They sat in a large parlor room at the back of their palace. All along one side of the room, tall windows let in the morning light and reflected on the gilded ceiling. The room was done up all in yellows and greens, the image of joy and comfort, but the chair Hans sat in felt stiff and uncomfortable. "He's a strong one."

"He had better be," Rudolf said. "Julienne can't have any more children, and Kai is our only son."

"Our only son who survived this long, dear," Julienne corrected.

"Kai is our only son," Rudolf repeated, "and he will do great things." The smile underneath Rudolf's twirling moustache only grew. "He will be a great leader – a good soldier and a better prince. He is our family's one great chance."

Hans looked down at baby Kai, wishing that he could say, _"Lotta pressure for a little guy like you, huh?"_ and the look on Kai's face said that he understood, as if he wanted to answer, _"You have no idea. How'd your brother turn out so crazy?"_

Hans wiggled his fingers at Kai, who grabbed hold of his glove and pulled it off. "I'm so glad I came, Rudolf," and he meant it, every word.

"If I may ask, what brought you here, little brother?"

Hans cut in before Rudolf could ask what he knew he would ask next. "I wanted to travel, to see family that's not living back home."

"Weren't you appointed Admiral of the Navy? Don't you have duties in the Southern Isles?"

"An admiral can't go to sea?" he asked absently and turned his attention to Kai, who was now chewing on his glove. "No, that's not for eating," he pulled the glove away gently. "Don't want you to choke, now do we?"

"Aren't you needed at home?"

"No," Hans answered honestly.

And before he could think of anything else to say to stave off his brother's questions, one of the large doors leading from the hall flew open and a barefooted little girl ran inside, letting the door slam behind her. She flew across the room, scrambling over and under furniture, until she pressed her face to the glass door leading outside. She was wearing a dress trimmed in embroidery and lace, fit for a princess.

"Hans?" Rudolf asked gently, as though something were wrong with his little brother. The small girl started jumping and caught hold of the gilded door handle. Her fat feet dangled inches from the floor. She kicked and whined, but the door was locked, so she landed softly on the carpet. Though she caused a maelstrom whirling through the parlor, neither Rudolf nor Julienne had blinked an eye. But they had also dropped the subject of Hans' naval career, and he chose to take as much advantage of the situation as he could.

"I was actually thinking of attending the coronation in Arendelle," Hans said. Rudolf shook his head, disapproving. "Is the Southern Isles sending someone else? We should be represented there."

These were the oddest moments, when Rudolf both smiled and clearly disapproved. "I wouldn't go. There's been an increase of reports of sea monsters between the Southern Isles and Arendelle. And there are rumors that the queen is… less than normal. Monsters everywhere there, Hans. I wouldn't go, and you shouldn't either."

The little girl gave up on opening the door yet again, and noticed Hans. She ran up to his chair.

"There's no such thing as monsters, Rudolf. Only men who do not understand what they see."

The little girl stood beside his chair, up on her tiptoes.

"Gerda, now's not the time," Julienne said softly. Rudolf didn't even look her way.

Gerda tugged on Hans' trousers. "Who are you?"

Hans looked for a moment between the girl and Julienne before answering. "I'm your Uncle Hans."

Gerda's face broke into a genuine grin, and she lifted up her arms, asking to go up. She had blonde curls and eyes as blue as her brother's.

Hans held Kai towards his mother. "You can take him, if you'd like."

Julienne waved a hand absently. "He likes you."

Gerda tugged on Hans' trousers, and he leaned over to tell her that it seemed he couldn't talk now, when Rudolf interrupted. "Don't give her attention, Hans. It only encourages her."

"I wish our youngest daughter behaved more like a princess, but we're doing our best." Julienne said wearily.

"We have two beautiful girls and a perfect son." Rudolf put an arm around his wife. "What more could we ask for?"

A lump rose in Hans' throat. He knew that if he looked at Gerda again, he would start to cry.

"Our other two daughters are so perfect in every way. We really are being silly expecting so much from Gerda," Rudolf said. Hans heard the patter of small, bare feet, and the large white door shut again. "She's always running away like that, never will stay in one place…"

"Our deepest apologies for the interruption," Julienne said. "Now, where were we?"

Hans looked down at Kai, still chewing on the thumb of his glove, and suddenly he hated the helpless child.

"Yes, I was asking Hans what he's doing so far from home. Isn't the admiralty keeping you busy, brother dear?"

Hans' throat felt so clogged with tears he could barely breathe. He walked to Julienne, handed back her child, and said, "I need to go." He walked away as fast as he could.

Rudolf rose and followed him to the double doors. "But you just arrived! Hans – "

"Yes, and now I have to go."

"Hans, we've barely spent any time together. Let's catch up."

"It's too late, brother," he hissed.

"What?"

"You want to know why I left my job as admiral?"

"You left it?"

"You want to know why?" Hans yelled to keep from crying. "Because I was useless! I did nothing but parade around in my uniform for three years. Three whole years, Rudolf! I never went to sea, never did anything worth mentioning – "

"You're our baby brother, Hans! We wanted to keep you safe."

"Too valuable to die, not valuable enough to live – what the hell do I mean to you?!"

From his place in Julienne's arms, baby Kai began to cry.

"I thought you wanted to be admiral. We gave you the job because you wanted it, Hans!"

"I wanted it because I thought I was going to do something important. I didn't realize I was being shoved away, out of trouble and out of your sight."

Rudolf's face softened. No trace of a smile was left. When he spoke again, he almost whispered. "What did I ever do to you?"

Hans forced the lump of tears down his throat and bowed to his brother. "Good day, brother. Sea monsters or no, I will be attending the coronation in Arendelle. Let me know if you wish to see me again."

As Hans walked out the front doors of his brother's palace, he knew that if he set foot in Arendelle, he would not leave empty-handed.


	3. Love is an Open Door (Reprise)

From that day forward, the sailors realized what great fun it was to mock their prisoner. They made a game of ridiculing his walk and posture when they knew he was looking.

"That's not it!" an older sailor called after the redheaded boy who minced across deck with his nose in the air. "More like you've got a pole up your arse." The boy adjusted his walk accordingly, and a round of applause broke over the deck.

"You should learn to control your men, sir." Hans told the captain.

"Your Highness..." the captain began calmly, pityingly.

"Mockery is the sincerest form of flattery?"

"Your Highness, you nearly killed the Queen of Arendelle. Let the boys have a laugh at your expense. It will do you good."

Hans bristled at his words, but only held his head higher. "Where is Le Comte Surette? I thought he was escorting me home."

"He is, but he does not do well at sea. He'll be in his cabin for the trip."

"Who's the feminine aristocrat now?" Hans muttered.

"Le Comte Jean Surette, to my knowledge, has no murders to date," the captain said, and walked off.

"I didn't even kill anybody," Hans muttered, pulled off his cravat, and ran the silk through his fingers. He found the action soothing. He wondered how different he must look now, four days' growth of beard, suit disheveled. The cravat started moving faster and faster. How he looked. They made fun of him for how he looked. Despite his best efforts to kill the queen, they saw him most as an effete aristocrat, incapable of doing anything on his own. And Hans had encouraged that image at every turn – fussing over his appearance, giving the sailors orders like he owned the place. Maybe –just maybe –

"Ha! Look what I found!" An orange head darted past his cell and snatched the cravat from his hands.

"Give that back!" Hans reached after the boy.

"How do I look now?" the boy asked his comrades, tying the silk around his neck in a giant bow. He minced around the deck to the hoots and hollers of the crew.

"Lemme try it!" called the big-nosed man. He unwrapped the cravat, and as he did, saw the words embroidered on its corner. "What's this now?" The big-nosed man He shoved his giant nose shoved his nose at the writing. "To... Hans... on... your... birth-day." He annunciated slowly. "Love... Johann."

"Give it here! Please!" Hans' voice turned to a high-pitched whine. He reached through the bars until they pinched his arm. He only reached further still. So he reached further. "Please!" Just thinking of their grubby hands all over Johann's gift made him feel sick.

"Who's Johann?" asked a voice from the crowd. He couldn't tell who.

"My brother, of course! Who else would it be?"

The scrawny boy puckered his lips. "Sure it weren't from some fancy man, Your Highness?"

A wolf whistle came from somewhere deep in the crowd, and the boy took it as encouragement, holding the bright fabric to his lips.

"Give it back now!" Hans yelled.

In the storm of scandalized laughter and whistling, the black-bearded man alone was quiet. He turned a deep scarlet and looked down at his shuffling feet.

"Enough!" the captain called. "It's gone too far now, boys. Don't you think?"

The black-bearded man snatched the cravat and handed it to Hans, still fiery read and looking at the floor.

"Thank you," Hans said in his softest voice.

"Course."

Hans flicked his eyes to the man's belt, and then up again. "I mean it sincerely," he said, pure gratitude, in part for the gesture, in part for the fact that the one man on this ship who clearly wanted a fancy man was also the one with the keys.

When Pierre left his rounds on watch, he always walked past Hans' cell. This time, when he walked past, he found Hans in tears. The tears were easy, too easy, to summon. The desperate nature of his current situation coupled with the memory of Gerda's sad blue eyes and outstretched hands had him sobbing in a moments.

Hans had unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. His cravat hung limp around his neck. He lay turned towards the cell door, displaying the freckles on his collarbone when Pierre walked past his door.

As expected, Hans heard a gentle rap on the door, followed by an even gentler, "You alright?"

"Does it look like I'm alright?"

"What is it, sir?"

"What's to become of me?" Hans gasped for air. What with all his ridiculous posturing, his hair had come loose from its coif and some strands fell into his eyes. Hans ran his gloved fingers through his hair, mussing it still further. Pierre stared. "After what I did in Arendelle, what's left for me? My brothers will humiliate me, throw me in prison... and who knows what else..." the more Hans thought about it, the easier the tears came. "...and then I'll be useless, really and truly useless. Just like they said I would be."

Pierre was pressed against the bars, just where Hans wanted him. "Who said that? Your brothers? Your family?"

Hans lay back on his cot, struggling with the lump growing in his throat. "I've never felt so alone in my life, Pierre." And then. "I'd rather die than go home." As soon as he had said the words, he knew that they were true. They settled in his stomach like lead. He'd do anything to keep from going home. Anything.

"You know my name?" Pierre asked shyly from the other side of the bars.

Hans smiled. "Of course." He'd learned it just that very afternoon.

Pierre cleared his throat and wiped the smile from his lips. "Prince Hans, you are a prisoner here because you intended to kill both..."

Hans massaged the back of his neck and groaned. Pierre's voice faltered.

"...b-both Queen Elsa and Princess Anna of Arendelle. And you betrayed not only their kingdom, but also your own." Pierre spoke stiffly, as if reciting a practiced speech. Hans wondered if he were.

"I have no kingdom," his rough voice was rough with crying. "And now I never will." He pulled off his gloves and cast them to the ground. "I'm nothing, and I've never felt so alone in my life."

Pierre looked right and then left, before quietly unlocking Hans' cell door and closing it behind him just as quietly. He sat next to Hans, and the wooden bed creaked under his weight. He smelled like sweat and tar. Without disgust or misgiving, Hans rested his head against the sailor's shoulder.

Pierre froze for a full five seconds before his tongue untied. "L-look, sir, we all make mistakes. Yours are bigger than most. Much, much bigger. I never tired to kill anybody – " Hans began to pull away, and Pierre's arm wrapped around him. " – but that doesn't mean your life is over."

Hans leaned against the large man again, and breathed in his scent. For a moment, he didn't want to escape. He wanted to stay in this giant's embrace and listen to his comforting words. This was the trouble of mixing truth with lies: the truth so often threatened to take over all his careful plans. "Perhaps you're right," he murmured. "I hope I could be so brave, if given the chance."

"No point in wondering about things to come."

"You're right again," Hans pulled away as far as he needed to, and one hand closed on the empty metal bucket in his cell. "Thank you, Pierre."

"My pleasure. I mean, I – "

Hans swung the bucket hard and caught Pierre's forehead with a solid thwack, and he crumpled to the ground.

Hans waited in silence until he could be certain no one would come to investigate the sound. Pierre's head was bleeding, but he had a steady pulse. Someone would find him soon enough. He pulled off Pierre's clothes and put them on over his own. At last he gathered his gloves and cravat from the floor. He tied on the necktie, the cool silk running over his neck like water.


	4. In Johann's Honor

Johann shuffled his feet and fidgeted with the small box in his hands. "I didn't think they'd forget this year, Hans. I would have gotten you something more, but I didn't think." He held out the box.

They were the only two left in the large room that once all twelve princes shared. By now six had left married to duchesses and queens. The place felt empty even when it was full these days, the gaping hollow of a throat waiting to be full sobs. Hans' shoes echoed on the high ceilings and gilded walls and made the place sound haunted.

The thirteenth prince stood before the mirror that evening, dressing for a ball. He'd waited, fussing over his shoes and his epaulettes until the rest of his brothers had left, wanting the place to himself.

Hans unwrapped Johann's box. A brightly-colored cravat was nestled in tissue-thin paper.

"I hope you like it," said Johann.

"It's beautiful! Thank you," Hans said. He took off his yellow necktie and replaced it with the new one, a deep, vibrant pink, perhaps magenta or fuchsia, one of those brilliant colors that needed a brilliant name.

They'd forgotten his birthday that year, but for the first time, it didn't bother Hans. There was to be a ball that evening. When he first heard the announcement, he pretended it was all in his honor. There would be a banner across the gate to the palace, with his name in giant gold letters, and the crowd would applaud when he entered. A vivid imagination made an excellent antidote to reality.

"It's fun to get dressed for these events, don't you think?" Hans smiled. He enjoyed putting on a mask so perfect no one could guess at the man beneath.

Johann snorted. "Easy for you to say." Hans' older brother had gawky limbs, a weak chin, and could retreat so far into himself that no one could see him clearly. Despite this, his parents – usually so shallow – idolized the boy, who was now more than old enough to be a man. They idolized him so much Johann often wondered if he were worthy of the praise and shied from it like their words were a mirror forcing sunlight into his eyes.

Hans squared his broad shoulders, beaming at the compliment. Taking pleasure in Johann's awkwardness grated at him, but he found himself doing it more and more often these days.

"Think of it this way, brother," Hans said, "you're a prince of the Southern Isles and you can do no wrong. No matter what the people at the ball do or say, you are in the right."

Johann gave him an awkward smile. He really was quite charming when he forgot his words, and Hans envied his ability to smile without a mask.

Hans ran his gloved fingers over his admiral's insignia. "I don't think you're supposed to wear a pink cravat with your uniform," Johann said and shifted his feet.

"Well I don't care." Hans dusted off the final gold button. "Maybe you should try caring a little less about such silly things. It might do you good."

"Why?"

"Because what others think of you doesn't matter." Hans searched his reflection for flaws. He found none. "If you see yourself as brave and handsome, that's what the world will see. If you only see a small, scared man, that's all you will ever be. Simple as that."

It was a standard inspirational speech, and Johann thanked him for it, but of course none of it was true.

Hans lost sight of Johann as soon as they were announced in the ballroom. The crowd of shining people at these events always disoriented Hans: a man spent what felt like an age smoothing and polishing himself, and he felt like a king before his mirror, only to discover there were hundreds exactly the same.

A roaring laugh cut through the music. Prince Anton stood a head taller than most of the people in the room, surrounded by wilting women in bright dresses. His brother's legs were braced far apart, a soldier at attention, taking up as much space as possible. White teeth glinted underneath a perfect dark moustache.

Hans let his mask down for an indulgent moment and slouched against the wall. He hadn't known his brother had returned so early from his triumphant tour of the country. Another night spent in Anton's shadow was going to be less than pleasant.

Prince Gerhardt watched Anton's adoring crowd from afar. The wiry blond spent evenings such as this circling the ballroom like a vulture, making certain all was going according to plan. Hans shifted uncomfortably as his brother's gaze fell on him. Then the beady grey eyes went to Anton again, the Southern Isles' newest war hero, returned in triumph.

"I don't understand it. A man pierces a few folks with his sword, he thinks he has it made?" said a soft voice, with a lilting accent from the south.

"Sorry?" Hans turned towards the sound. The woman was wearing a red dress. Her waves of brown hair fell to strong shoulders. She rested a white fan on her chest.

"I don't understand why so many women can't keep their eyes off the tall soldier, that's all."

"He is a hero," Hans said in his sweetest syrupy voice. "He fought for the Southern Isles in the Winter Wars with France and Prussia."

The young woman placed a hand over her mouth and gasped. "If all that is true, I suppose I must meet him. Men who kill each other really are the best kind, don't you think so, Sir..."

He bowed. "Hans, milady."

"_Prince_Hans?" All the sarcasm melted from her voice.

"Yes, Prince Anton is my brother," Hans said. Anton laughed again, the sound carrying throughout the room.

"How lucky you must be," she drawled, and the two of them started laughing at once. Hans bit down on his glove to muffle the sound.

"Do you have any brothers and sisters, milady?"

She shook her head. "None at all."

"You're the lucky one," Hans looked back at the dancing couples and tried to keep bitterness from his voice.

"I think so, sometimes," she said. "At others I wonder if more family might have made me less lonely."

The dance ended, and a stocky blond man walked up to the lady in red. "May I request this dance?"

"No, thank you, sir." She curtseyed. "I'll wait out this one."

When he moved on, she faced Hans. "I fear that something I said has upset you, Your Majesty."

Hans shook his head. "Only that loneliness comes in many shapes and forms, milady, being alone only one of them."

Silence fell between them as the band began a waltz. Hans picked out shapes in the shadows on the floor.

"I understand there are beautiful gardens at the palace, Your Majesty." She held her chin high while talking to Hans, as if his status made no difference to her. For a moment, Hans wondered if she were royal herself, masquerading as a simple noblewoman while away from home.

"There are, yes. May I have the honor of escorting you?" He bowed again, and he knew the words sounded dry as chalk in his mouth, though he was more than happy to escape from Anton's laughter and Gerhardt's darting eyes.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

He took the strange woman's arm and skirted the crowd to the glass doors at the end of the ballroom. They walked in silence, and the longer it lasted, the thinner Hans' lips became. She hadn't noticed. All dolled up in his gold braid and insignia, and this woman hadn't said a thing about his new rank. Anton's uniform went noticed, of course. Maybe Hans seemed like a joke: burly Anton made a convincing soldier, but perhaps the littlest brother only looked as though he were playing dress-up in an admiral's clothes.

"What do you think, milady?" he asked. At first sight, the gardens seemed in a sorry state. They had not yet thrown off winter's frost, and the setting sun threw them into darkness. But behind them, right over the sea, the sun bled down to the horizon in brilliant red and orange.

"Beautiful," the lady said, more to herself than to Hans. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It is," he said and watched his breath swirl in the cold air. They stood there a long time, and the colors in the sky faded away. "Are you at all cold, milady?" He started to pull the jacket from his shoulders.

"I'm not, but thank you." The woman was leaning over a flowerpot.

"What is it?"

"The first growth of spring." She was right. A tiny green sprout pushed up through the dirt. "The gardens are beautiful. Thank you for showing me, Prince Hans."

"You're most welcome. I trust you're not cold?" he started removing his jacket again, deliberately shining his insignia in the light that spilled from the ballroom.

"Prince Hans, I am perfectly aware of your new appointment as Admiral of the Royal Navy. My father brought me up to date on all the developments at the court of the Southern Isles when we arrived."

"He mentioned me?" He couldn't help his voice rising at the end of the question.

"I hope you understand that your military position means very little to me, Your Majesty."

"I gathered as much," Hans said and straightened his jacket again. He wanted to ask what did mean something to her, and why she thought she had a right to dismiss his newfound identity. All he said was, "Would you care to dance?"

"Yes, I would, thank you, Your Majesty."

Hans led the woman back inside, and they joined the spinning couples. He moved stiffly, feeling like nothing more than a gear in a mechanical clock, a smile painted on his face. How dare this woman question the importance of his appointment. How dare she undermine his confidence, when he didn't ever know her name, and he was now sure it wasn't a name worth knowing. How dare she dance with him. He would find a polite excuse to be rid of her as soon as the dance ended.

But as they danced, something very odd happened. The lady inclined her head toward his, and her breath warmed Hans' skin. Her fingers gripped his tighter than protocol dictated. He longed to pull his hands free of his gloves and touch her skin. No wonder she had not felt cold in the evening air – warmth surrounded her everywhere she went. His cheeks began to flush.

"May I ask your name, milady?"

"Countess Juliana."

Hans wanted to ask Juliana what she had dreamed of as a lonely child, what kept her up late at night, nose pressed to the window of her room. He wanted to tell her all about watching the tide rise and fall every night, and hoping it would carry him away. But the song ended, and Gerhardt tapped on his shoulder.

"Hans, might I speak to you for a minute?"

Hans bowed to Juliana. "May I ask your leave, Countess?"

"Of course." She sounded ill at ease. It must have been Gerhardt's beady eyes.

Gerhardt led Hans to a small room adjacent to the ballroom. "Are you having a good time, brother?" he asked coldly, tapping his long nails on a lacquered desktop.

Hans knew that the question was a trick, somehow, but all he knew to say was, "Yes."

"Shame."

"What did I do wrong, brother?"

Gerhardt sat down in a chair against the wall. "Sit, Hans, please."

"I don't want to."

Hans felt rather than saw Gerhardt rolling his eyes. "As you wish. Do you know what the ball tonight is celebrating, little brother?"

"No one told me."

"It's to celebrate Johann."

"Really?" Hans smiled. "That's wonderful! You ought to tell Anton as much; he seems to think the party is about him."

"You're right." Gerhardt lingered on the words in surprise, as if Hans having a reasonable idea shocked the speed from his mind. "Anton should leave."

"Good." Hans grinned.

"As should you."

"What? What have I done?" Hans threw open his arms. He hated Gerhardt at times like this, when he beat around the bush to come to his punishment, twisting Hans around his little finger with words. "I hardly spent any time in the ballroom tonight. Ask anyone: I was in the gardens with Countess Juliana."

"You see," he groaned. "That's just it."

"What's just it?" Hans felt fire in his belly running upwards like nausea.

"Countess Juliana..." Gerhardt said. Hans' eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room and saw his brother stroke his chin. "She's getting engaged. To Johann. The sooner the better."

The color drained from Hans' face. "She said nothing of it."

"She doesn't know if it yet. Neither does Johann. But you will agree that he has very few prospects, as does a woman of Juliana's... usual temperament. I arranged for them to meet this evening. Now, little brother, don't you see that you're in the way?"

Hans held his hands behind his back and inclined his head forwards. "Perhaps I am not, Gerhardt. Perhaps Johann and your plans for him are in my way."

Gerhardt cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think, little brother? You who've been given the appointment as admiral you asked for, which I did not have to approve. You think you deserve more? And all tonight."

Hans bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "I'll leave now, if that's what you want."

"Good," Gerhardt said. He stood and walked towards the ballroom.

"G-Gerhardt?" Hans said, and he hated the feeble sound of his voice.

"Yes?" The thin man stood in the doorway, silhouetted with light from the ballroom.

"It's my birthday."

"Happy Birthday, Hans," he said, and closed the door.


End file.
